


Of Jewel Thieves and the Rookie Beat

by anamatics



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (TV), Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anamatics/pseuds/anamatics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she was a fresh-faced rookie, long before her vice days, Jane Rizzoli met an honest-to-god, swear-it-on-her-mother, super hero.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Jewel Thieves and the Rookie Beat

When she was a fresh-faced rookie, long before her vice days, Jane Rizzoli met an honest-to-god, swear-it-on-her-mother, super hero.

And she never talks about it to anyone.  She follows them, secretly using Google Translate to read news articles out of Tokyo about the girl and her friends.  Their exploits are quite legendary, part of the local lore in Japan. 

When she stares at the grainy traffic camera pictures of the girl who had once saved her life, she wonders what the hell she was doing in Boston of all places.  It was a world away from Japan, where all that end-of-the-world shit seemed to happen anyways.

Jane chews on the back of her pencil, and thinks about that fateful day.  She spends a long time staring at the grainy, half-obscured by an obscene amount of hair image of girl in a short skirt; wondering about that chance encounter.

-

She was twenty-two, fresh-faced and just outta the academy and onto the streets.  Her partner was this crotchety old guy, aptly named Dickson.  Most everyone just called him Dick, and he really didn’t like Jane.  Women didn’t belong in police work, and they certainly should not aspire to be detectives like Jane did, according to Dick anyway.  Jane was cocksure and gun shy, desperate to prove herself, and she thought that Dick was a total pig and misogynist. 

In retrospect, it suited Dickerson just fine, because it meant that he could concentrate more of his efforts on his on-the-job naps and extended meal breaks.  Jane was bullheaded enough to ignore him and barrel on with her patrols. 

There had been a series of jewelry store robberies across all of coastal New England, starting up in Bar Harbor, Maine and working their way down the coast.  Jane had been following the case with some interest at the time - because it just seemed too coincidental that the thief was working his or her way down the coast.  They had to be looking for something, or else the pattern made no sense at all.

While it was technically off of her beat, Jane had started to loop around past some of the higher end jewelry stores every two or three hours, just to make sure that all was well.  Jane had gumshoe; she knew that she would never prove herself to anyone just by being a good beat cop.  No, she had to do something great.

And so she continued to circle, knowing full-well that she could stumble into a whole world of trouble if she wasn’t careful.

One night, as the moon was full and there were still crowds of convention-going nerds clogging the streets from a late-night concert by some up-and-coming Japanese pop singer, Jane made her rounds a little bit early.  Dickson actually had legitimate excuse to be out that day, his son went to BU and had had to have an emergency appendectomy because the free clinic at the college had misdiagnosed him when he’d been in to see them the previous week. 

Jane had assure her LT that she would be fine on her own.  She just drove around and wrote tickets, she could handle it for one night while Dick dealt with a family emergency.

Her LT hadn’t liked it, but Jane had just shrugged his doubts off.  Water under the bridge.  It was all because she was a woman, and therefore considered inferior.  Jane would show them.  She’d show them all.

The patrol was boring as shit.  As it usually was.  Turns out that nerds don’t drink much, or tend to be smart about driving afterwards.  She told a few groups of them, loitering on street corners after the concert let out, to clear off; but for the most part it was quiet.  Jane twirled her keys around her finger, making her way slowly down on the usual foot patrol route. 

It was a warm summer evening, and Jane almost felt like whistling.  She kept quiet, though, thinking of her academy PT instructor’s terrifying face.  He’d said that if you made too much noise you could get dead and Jane wanted absolutely no part in that.  She had dreams, hopes, aspirations even. 

The streets were starting to grow quiet as the hour grew even later.  Jane jammed her hands into her pockets and continued on her route.  She stepped across the street and towards the first of four jewelry stores that she would pass on her route.  She wanted to make sure that all was well at each of them.  No stores in Boston had been hit, but Jane was sure that it was only a matter of time. 

The storefront was quiet, and Jane exhaled, her hand rising up and off of her gun.  She really didn’t know what she’d do if she did encounter the robber.  Probably piss herself before her academy training kicked in. 

The next store was around the corner, and Jane had just barely lifted her foot to turn in that direction when she heard the sound of breaking glass, closely followed by the shrill ringing of an alarm.  Jane pulled her radio off of her belt and barked that she was responding to the alarm and that they should send backup as the address was a jewelry store. 

Dispatch agreed and advised caution, but Jane had already clipped the radio back to her belt and had taken off running.  Adrenaline pounded in her ears and she could barely see what was happening as her feet pounded the pavement, desperate to get to the jewelry store. 

This was her chance.

Glass crunched under Jane’s feet, and she pulled her gun from its holster on her belt and clicked the safety off.  In the dim light from the streetlamp, Jane could see a man standing in the middle of the store without a care in the world.  He was wearing something that might have been an overcoat or a cloak of some sort, and a top hat was perched on his head.  Jane would later write in her report that she recalled thinking that this was odd because seriously? Who did that?  This wasn’t eighteen fifty or whatever.

“FREEZE!” Jane shouted.  She held her gun steady in her left hand, flashlight in her right.  She trained her light onto the man’s back. “Boston Police Department! Hands!” 

The man did indeed freeze, but almost too quickly.  He curled and Jane felt, rather than saw what looked like a rose come flying towards her face.  She ducked, and stared with wide eyes as the rose embedded itself three inches deep into the concrete wall.  She leveled her gun again, and the man moved to fire another rose at her.

Jane saw something glittering flash past her eye and she turned to see where it had come from. The flashing object cut down a second killer rose of death, and Jane couldn’t help but panic just a little bit.  Did he have back up?  Was there another cop on the scene?  What was even happening?

She saw nothing, and heard a grunt that sounded like it came from the man in the jewelry store.  She paused, her finger poised on the trigger of her gun.  He was doubled over, and there was a small crescent-moon shaped mirror on the floor.  “Omae-” He said, and then almost as suddenly as he’d burst onto the scene he was gone.  Vanished, gone, poof. 

There were rose petals in the air and Jane blinked, not daring to lower her gun.  That was some gimmick she’d never even heard of before.

“You did well,” said an accented voice from somewhere above Jane’s head.  “For your first time.”

Jane spun, gun now trained directly upwards.  Standing on top of the streetlight was a girl wearing a mask and an entirely too-short orange skirt.  She looked impossibly young; her blonde hair was held back in a bright red bow.  Jane scowled, and did not lower her gun.  “Who are you?” she demanded.

The girl shrugged, her eyes were partly obscured by a mask.  It was painful for Jane to even look at her, like there was something emitting from the girl that made her difficult to remember.  “We have a common enemy, officer.”

Jane cocked her gun, hands never shaking.  “Who are you?” she demanded once again.  The girl spoke with an accent, but she could be local - there were a lot of people who spoke English as a second language in Boston.  “Come down from there.”

The girl jumped.  Jane’s mouth fell open as the girl landed on her feet, knees barely seeming to react to the stress of dropping so many feet without so much as a roll to break her fall.  “I am a friend - we have an enemy in common.”

She was impossibly short, maybe five two or three at the most, a little more with the heels on her shoes.  Her eye sparkled in the light of Jane’s flashlight.

Her face was entirely forgettable and Jane had a way with faces.  She didn’t usually forget them, but later when she was asked to sit with a sketch artist, she could not describe the man in the top had or the girl at all.

“What are…”  Jane started to ask.

The girl danced forward, a smile on her lips.  “Champion of love and beauty,” she said, brushing past Jane and vanishing into the night.  “Sailor V…”

Jane stood there, utter flabbergasted, until backup came.

-

“What’re you reading?” Frost asks, dropping a bag from Subway on the desk next to Jane.  She doesn’t look up, still reading intently.  There is a scrape, and then Frost’s head appears in her peripheral vision, having pulled his chair up to sit next to her. 

“Nothing,” Jane mutters, minimizing the window.  She reaches for her sandwich.  “A ghost from the past.”

Frost leans around her and clicks the Internet window back into view.  “Oh, I remember these guys.  Superheroes, right?” Jane doesn’t say anything and Frost just shakes his head.  “They look more like jailbait if you ask me.”

“They’re okay,” Jane says quietly.  She pulls her half of the sandwich out of the bag and folds the end bag closed again.  She’ll take Maura’s down in a bit.  “Tokyo’s a hot bed for that sort of crazy, anyway.” 

Murmuring his agreement, Frost takes a bit of his sandwich.  “You know, when I was a in high school they used to joke about how Sailor V once broke up a robbery here in Boston.  It was a total myth, but that’d be pretty cool if it happened, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jane agrees absently.  “But why the hell would they be in Boston in the first place?  It’s way too boring here for anything like that to happen.”

**Author's Note:**

> seriously one of two crossovers I've always wanted to write. Please note that this is playing a little fast and loose with the canon given the age differences and if Minako was 14 in 2004 when PGSM aired and Jane is ~33 or so during the show's premier in 2011, the ages are off by about 5 or so years. Soooo let's pretend that this isn't the case and just roll with it, okay? Okay.
> 
> also this is using PGSM canon, so Minako's a bomb ass singer and stuff not just Sailor V.


End file.
